Facets of Madness Part One Section Two!

[boosh_smeg_who]

Trying to catch his breath before entering Marmoreal, the Hatter wondered how Alice could stand running away so often. He’d just run the entire distance to the White Queen’s castle, and it was not an experience he wished to repeat any time soon. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he took a deep breath and entered through the enormous archway that led into the gleaming castle. Instantly a conflicting wave of relief and apprehension washed over him. It felt wondrously good to be here at last, but at the same time he felt as if he were trespassing. It had been such a long time, how could he still be allowed to enter the Queen’s court?

“No,” he heard himself murmur, “Now is not the time for fear. Alice needs me.”

He squared his shoulders, repositioned his hat to a more daring angle, and strode towards the White Hall. As he passed he could feel a subtle vibration in the air - which built up to an audible humming, and then loud, clear notes. A cacophony of jarring discord that beat in time to his heart. He’d thought at first he had begun to play music in his head to make the moment seem dramatic. But it was actually the trees. The pink-leafed trees that lined the entrance to the White Hall, who had obviously benefited from the White Queen’s singing lessons in the past four years. The last time he’d passed their swaying ranks they had not managed anything more than a sweet whisper of a tune.

“You’ve definitely improved,” he told them, though he knew these trees to be listeners rather than talkers. “And you’ve even learned to set the atmosphere! If I wasn’t in such a great rush I would tell you I’m very impressed.”

He thought he heard their tone drop to something not quite as over-the-top, something more welcoming, and smiled as he continued on. The doors were already open as he approached, which was mildly disappointing as he’d hoped to throw them forcefully open to gather everyone’s attention. The better he had them listening, the sooner. He stifled a giggle at the thought, feeing giddy now with anticipation as he strode purposefully through the White Hall. He was ready to burst in equal parts excitement and apprehension, because surely he should not be storming the castle on his own without permission? But he had to find Mirana.

“White Queen,” he berated himself, “Or Your Majesty. I must remember my manners.”

At last he found a sign of life: at the foot of the largest staircase, a fish-servant was scrubbing the marble until it shone.

“You there,” said the Hatter, ignoring the look of shock and fright on the fish’s face.

“Where is the Queen? I must speak with her!”

“She’s - she’s in her office, sir,” the fish replied, “But she’s terribly busy, I don’t think -”

“Then I shall have to make her day regrettably busier,” he interrupted, and began taking the stairs two at a time.

He bounded over the top step and bolted down the corridor at a speed that was most indecent in a Royal Castle, narrowly avoiding a frog-servant who had unfortunately found himself in the way. Flinging himself around a corner, he at last reached the beautifully engraved white door that signified the White Queen’s Office. It took all his restraint to at least be polite enough to knock.

“Come in,” called a strained voice from within.

“Your Majesty,” he said at once upon entering the room, “I have terrificle news -”

“-Tarrant?” Mirana exclaimed, casting her usual airiness aside. Her quill dropped onto parchment with a delicate splattering of ink to accompany it and she gazed at him open-mouthed. It was a good few moments before she had the good grace to close it and simply stare at him.

Her reaction reminded him once again of the irritating fashion of manners, and he hastily bowed before approaching her desk.

“Your Majesty, I have terrific - terrible - terrificle news of Alice,” he said again, in a sombre tone he hadn’t expected to use. He even dared to splay his hands on the wooden desk and stare imploringly down at her.

There was a pregnant pause, in which they both could see how their clever friend Time had seen fit to change them.

Mirana had not seen her former Hatter in just over a year, though not for lack of trying. In the first year of his madness he had shunned her more than any of the others, making it so difficult to visit that she had been forced to admit defeat. He hadn’t let her inside his hut, nor had he ever said anything to her other than an aggressive ‘go away’, barely recognisable in his heavy accent. In his second year, he had cried so intensely during her visits she feared his very heart would break at the next sight of her. The third year he gave no acknowledgement of her existence at all. The fourth…she had stopped coming. Her world was rebuilding itself and needed a leader with a mind set on the future, not the past. And that point, the Oraculum had shown them Alice would be coming, and her guilt had given way to anticipation. But now she could truly see the damage his years alone had done: despite the time spent with Alice again he was still thin, his clothes in need of repair. His hair, strangely enough, had not grown an inch. It looked as if it had simply given up, turned a dark muddy red and was now not bothering to shine. His face bore the expression of an impossibly tired man. It was exhaustion so bone-deep that a million years’ rest would not erase the lines under his eyes.

But his eyes…they gave her the answer she’d been hoping for. They were burning bright green, so brightly that she could see the beginnings of rebirth in him: the very tips of his hair were that impossible orange, his face was tired but excited, and he had at least patched up his torn cravat.

“Dearest Tarrant,” she murmured, “Why didn’t you let me help you?”

The Hatter studied her carefully, noticing the tension in her posture that had never existed before. Her heavy lidded eyes showed no sign of the wayward fluttering they were once famous for. But her gaze was steady, her hand clutched tightly in a ball, like she were gathering muchness within it. She looked like a woman trying very hard not to be overwhelmed. His mouth opened and closed over the words he’d been about to speak - the words about Alice. Thrown off balance by her tender use of his real name after so many years, he instead cast his mind back - with significant difficulty - to remember why he’d turned her away in the first place. “I…I blamed you, Your Majesty…” he whispered, ashamed. “I blamed you for not persisting with Alice, persuading her to stay. And then…then I felt as if I’d failed you. I was the Royal Hatter, and I had abandoned you…but of course with that came the thought that I was merely a Hatter. What great betrayal had I committed, really? I was never an important part of your life, Your Majesty.”

He closed his eyes gently.

She smiled sadly. “Please call me Mirana, Tarrant. You’re a friend, not just a Hatter, and I won’t have you think so little of yourself ever again.”

This time when he bowed it was out of respect, and gratitude, and all the good things that politeness should be about rather than mere tradition.

“Now what is it that you’ve come to tell me?” she asked, more calmly than she felt. After all, why was he here and not with -?

“Alice isn’t married,” the Hatter breathed out. “She’s just mad.”

Mirana kept her face carefully blank. “She’s just….mad.”

“Gallymoggers!” he confirmed, “Bonkers! Mad as a March hare, barmy, round the bend! Call it what you wish, she’s ill!” he clenched his hands in fists on the table and his eyes desperately searched hers for understanding. Mirana was now not sure what to make of him. He had seemed so much better, so much more like his normal self…she peered closer, but no…there was no discernible trace of madness in his gaze. But how could their Champion be mad? Alice was a daydreamer, yes, but she was also quite level-headed and sound.

“Your Majesty?” the Hatter enquired when she still said nothing. “Mi-Mirana…please, I need your help. I must help Alice.”

She cleared her throat. “What did you say? She’s not married?”

Now they were coming to the delicate part of the story. The Hatter sighed heavily and started wringing his hands in front of her. “Aye, there’s no husband. She’s just imagining him.”

Oddly, Mirana noticed that his voice seemed to be changing. It was not an aggressive tone, nor was it his gentle lisp-tainted sound. It was a subdued, deeper voice, with just a hint of his brogue. It was vaguely familiar coming from him, a sound she hadn’t heard since before…

“I have to help her, but I don’t know what to do,” he continued, starting to pace. “I need a woman - well, that is to say, I need another woman - not that I’m not happy with the one I’ve got - well, I don’t quite have her, I almost do - but that’s not to say I own her, almost or not -”

“Tarrant!” she cried, trying not to smile. He was too much like his old self. Though he did wince as she used his name again. Mirana wondered briefly if the memories behind it hurt him.

“I’m fine,” he bit out, “It’s Alice that’s not.”

“What makes you think she’ imagining Henry?”

And with an expression that wiped the almost-smile from Mirana’s face, the Hatter told her of the assault, of the madness, of the husband nobody could see. When he was finished he was quite red in the face, both with anger and unease, and couldn’t stand still. All that could be heard was the cracking of the Hatter’s knuckles as he paced the room, casting furtive glances at her. Taking a few calming breaths, Mirana pressed her face into her hands and stayed that way for some time. At that moment she was immensely grateful for the years of Royal training that had taught her how to be logical despite emotional distress. This was a tender subject, and she needed to think of something perfect or Alice would be lost.

She would have to speak with Absolem…but no one else. The Hatter was adamant - and completely right - that nobody else in Underland could know of this. Of course, once she did ask the butterfly, he would more than likely advise her to read the Oraculum and find out what should happen. However, not only were the oracle’s illustrations open to interpretation, but it was against Mirana’s personal rule. She didn’t believe in living her life by how it was predicted. That was why she only allowed the Oraculum to be read once a month unless something as important as the Haverlock Day was discerned from a reading. The Haverlock Day…it was only three days away. But maybe they could just borrow from it? A few ideas? The Hatter had given Alice a list of his feelings for her. But feelings couldn’t be read, they needed to be seen. He needed a grand gesture. If Alice could see how focused, how almost completely cured he was…If she could see that he’d overcome his own madness to help her with her own, then surely she would listen?

“All right, I know what to do,” she said at last, emerging from the cover of her palms. The tone of her voice was warbling on the verge of something powerful. The Hatter stopped moving and met her gaze with equal force. “And you must succeed,” she told him, “Because Alice must choose to stay. The thought of who she becomes when she’s up there, in that world…I can’t bear it.”

“Nor can I,” replied the Hatter quietly.

Later, when their plan had been set, Mirana sent for McTwisp. She asked him to gather the Hatter’s friends, and they met soon after along with Absolem and the Tweedles. Mirana was watching the Hatter speak animatedly of his plans for Alice, and the way the others were trying to look surprised about the idea of a tea party for two. He didn’t know that this notion was borrowed from the Haverlock Day they all knew about. Nor did they know the definite reason for his sudden urge to impress Alice. Mirana followed the way he waved his hands for emphasis, his eyes glowing, and smiled to herself.

“I thought the Haverlock Day was when Alice would cure the Hatter,” she said in an undertone, “Not the other way around. You and the Tweedles read the Oraculum wrong, Absolem.”

“I read nothing wrong,” replied the butterfly, “I did say the Hatter would be cured on the day, did I not? I only neglected to mention that Alice would benefit from the day too.”

“So you’ve noticed too, have you?” replied Mirana with a smile, still watching the Hatter.

“He’s definitely almost cured,” Absolem declared. “He’s almost as mad as he was before.”

“Do you think we should tell him?”

“Where would be the fun in that?” replied the butterfly.

***

It was all to do with timing.

If Chessur had just happened to be heading to Marmoreal when the Hatter had, it was not his fault. If he also just happened to be visiting Mirana at the same time, he couldn’t be blamed. If he had then been about to materialise in the Queen’s office when he realised the Hatter had beaten him there, it only made sense that he would simply stay as an inconspicuous grin on the wall and wait his turn.

If he happened to overhear every bit of their conversation, really, it wasn’t exactly his fault.

It had all been rather poor timing, just like Alice now being more than late to return to the Hatter. And really, seeing as he now knew of the importance of the Hatter’s plan, it would be wrong not to try and find the girl and find out what the devil was taking her so long.

It had nothing whatsoever to do with a heroic wish to help Alice, he would argue, if anyone dared suggest it. It was simply that he couldn’t bear seeing a perfectly good afternoon tea go to waste. No, it wouldn’t do to let everyone know he had a soft side, or else he’d be asked for help so often there would be very little time left for grinning. It didn’t take long to find her that afternoon.

“You have an unusual habit of lurking in doorways, love,” he commented, un-vanishing himself at her side. She was pacing around the willow tree to her world, looking distraught.

“I like having a view of both sides,” she replied without looking at him. She was throwing glances over her shoulder at the tree. Thinking that it was not an overly interesting thing to be glancing at, Chessur cleared his throat loudly to focus her attention.

“Or is it simply that you’re unsure of where you want to go?” he ventured. Seeing that a simple fake throat-clearing was not going to work on her, he gave up on any pretence. “The Hatter’s waiting for you,” he told her.

“The Hatter’s always waiting for me,” she replied distractedly, flicking a hand as if to brush him away. She stopped pacing and finally seemed to see him. “Henry was here, Chess.”

“Oh?”

“That’s all you can say? Oh? My husband was here, Chessur, just a second ago! He’s never followed me before, but he was - he was there -” she pointed at a spot just beyond the closest tree, “- and then he was gone! Do - do you think he’s gone wandering off? He loves new places, he always said - but why wouldn’t he talk to me if he was just there -?” she was pacing again, and Chessur got the distinct impression she was no longer speaking to him.

Desperate times, he thought. “The Hatter’s gravely ill, I’m afraid,” he announced loudly.

“The Hatter’s always wait- what?” Alice ground to a halt, staring at the cat. “What did you say?”

“He’s taken leave of his senses, completely, and it’s caused a brain fever. He’s terrifically sick.”

A heavy, heavy weight dropped somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach. She wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to digest the news calmly, but panic was setting in fast. Panic, nausea, helplessness, unease, help me, oh please let this be a mistake -

“Take me to him,” she bit out, “Please.”

With his feeling of victory being marred only slightly by guilt, Chessur led the way. He kept a watchful eye on her as he glided through the trees. She was still holding herself as she stumbled after him, a glazed expression on her face. There was something wrong about her. She looked pale and grey, like she was fading out of sight. Maybe he wasn’t the only one with evaporating skills. Or maybe it was more important than ever that she get to the Hatter right away.

At any rate, he was very glad when they finally reached the place.

They stopped at thick copse of trees, the other side of which resided the Hatter.

“I shall leave you to it,” he told her, but she looked around at him wildly.

“To what? What am I supposed to do? I’m not a doctor -”

“Good, because he doesn’t need one,” he replied, gesturing at the trees and then vanishing from sight.

Alice closed her eyes, recognising the Panic, the Nausea and the Helplessness that had made a sudden acquaintance with her in the last few days. She wasn’t used to being the weak one, the frightened one. But ever since her kiss with the Hatter she’d felt like she’d been knocked off her feet. Things that were once so straight forward now felt twisted and difficult. What rational woman would rather spend time with a madman than her husband? What would drive someone to turn their back on their family so easily? How could she be the one to help, now, if it felt like she was the mad one? Taking a deep breath, she pushed her way through the trees and stumbled out the other side.

And found she had another impossible thing to believe: just the sight of the Hatter was enough to make her feel sane again.

He was sat at one end of a long table alight with candles, and instantly she felt herself being drawn towards him, cares be damned. He was not on his death bed, nor was he raving mad. The Cheshire cat had obviously played a cruel trick, and she made a mental note to be cross with him later. For now though, she was burning with curiosity. The Hatter was yet to display any obvious emotion. What was he doing out here alone in the evening?

“Hatter, what have you been doing?” she asked gently, approaching the warmth of the glittering table.

But as she looked closer at the set up she realised it was far more intricate than a simple tea party. The setting sun illuminated the table in a rich pink hue, broken up by splashes of light from flickering white candles. There were scattered red and white roses, like drops of blood in snow. Delicately frosted cakes surrounded silver and black teapots and cups.

Perfect, shining teapots with not a single crack in them. He’d clearly gone to a lot of trouble.

He was gazing at her expectantly, his eyes impossibly wide with an emotion she couldn’t interpret. It was hard to see the colour of them in the light. “Hatter, you did all this for me?” she spoke the realisation out loud.

When he replied, it was with a voice she hadn’t heard before. By Underland standards it was exceptionally ordinary, but up in England it could have been charming. It was certainly less mad than the voices he normally used.

“Well I certainly didn’t do it for the March Hare. Please,” he gestured to the seat beside him at the head of the table, “You must sit.”

She sunk into the padded chair and was overwhelmed by the heat and the heady scent of the candles. The flames danced across his face so it was difficult to read. Alice glanced at him nervously, thinking of the picture in the Oraculum with the two of them…

“How long did this take?” she asked in a dry voice.

“A few hours, at most. I was adamant that it would be perfect.”

“How strange,” she replied, thinking of the short time she’d just spent in England. “I was only away for a few hours as well. The two worlds must be running alongside each other for once.”

“Actually,” he said carefully, “It’s been three days.”

She blanched. “Three days?”

He said nothing, just watched her. She peered through the shadows at the long table before her, and realised with a pang of guilt…the cakes were indeed looking harrowed and stale, the tea pots were not billowing steam. The intricate little candles were burning very close to the quick, with wax drying in lumps on the table. Her heart sank.

“I’m so sorry, Hatter. You must be furious with me.”

But the sudden realisation that it had been three days made her insides squirm. If three days had passed…then it was Haverlock Day. This wasn’t an innocent, pretty tea party for two. This was the night the Hatter would say something to make her finally fall for him, absolutely, earnestly, completely. She would betray her husband, but accomplish what she’d been working towards for months: curing the Hatter. I don’t think I can do this, she thought, despite the fact she’d up and left her sister and Henry to run back to him. Instantly, maybe even without conscious recognition, she hardened her resolve and prepared to ignore anything even remotely enticing that might come from him. No, he was not going to trick her into falling in love with him. She’d cure him some other way.

And although he was feeling sharper and more clear-headed than he’d felt in years, now was not the time for clever tricks. Now was the time for embracing the truth, or they would both be lost.

“I’m not furious, Alice. I’m not even remotely agitated,” he told her in that same, measured voice. He rested his chin in his hands, elbow sitting unnoticed in a bowl of cream, and settled his calm gaze on her. “I’m actually rather grateful.”

Alice copied his movements, raising a dubious eyebrow. “Nobody has ever been grateful for lateness, Hatter. You’ve had to kill Time on numerous occasions just waiting for me.”

“Time and I have an agreement now, in which any errors on my part relating directly or indirectly to Alice Kingsleigh are to be excused and or forgiven,” he recited quickly, “Given that it happens so often and it would be a simple inconvenience if Time were to take offence to every little thing I did in the future.”

“But that still doesn’t explain why you’re grateful.”

“What does one do with spare time?”

“This isn’t a time for riddles, Hatter.”

“But this isn’t a riddle, Alice. This is a confession. I used my spare time to think, of course.”

Now aware that she’d also let her elbow rest on something that wasn’t just table cloth, Alice finally averted her gaze to wipe the crumbs off herself.

“Oh?” she replied distractedly, “And what have you been thinking about?”

He watched patiently as she moved the cake away. “Ravens and writing desks…and things that begin with M,” he answered.

“So the usual, then?”

“The unusual, actually: matrimony, misunderstandings…and madness.”

This got her attention. She felt her resolve harden again. He was going to tell her why he would make a better husband than Henry, why he wasn’t too mad to love her. She was ready for it. “And what did you come up with while thinking of such things?” she asked.

“That I’m not the one who needs help, Alice,” the Hatter whispered, “It’s you.”

So it isn’t tonight after all, she thought, He’s still deranged. “Hatter…” she murmured sadly, laying a hand on his arm, “I thought you were getting better.”

He wasn’t going to be swayed. “No, Alice, really -”

“-I thought today you’d be -”

“I’m fine! I am! Alice, please listen -”

He was gripping her arms firmly. She looked down at his calloused, pin-pricked hands wrapped around her and felt as if she were suffocating.

“Please let go,” she bit out, her vision blurring.

“You must listen -”

“I will! I’ll listen just - just let go!” she begged, choking back a sob.

Instantly he did, and she felt a prickling relief roll down her spine.

It took her a moment to realise the harsh breathing that filled the air was her own. The Hatter did nothing but watch sadly as he waited for her to calm down. “You’re getting worse,” he uttered, “Don’t you see, Alice?”

“Why am I like this?” she replied in a hushed voice, “I never…I liked it when we touched, Hatter. But now…”

“May I tell you a story?” he asked, and she nodded. Tentatively his fingers sought out hers, his thimble-topped thumb stroking the back of her hand. He waited until this little motion calmed her before starting to speak. “Twas just shy of Brillig when a Hatter, mad as myself, for it was myself, called upon the help of his once-forgotten friends. Twas three days ago when I held grave concerns for these involved parties-thrice: this tea party you see before you; myself, for I was sure to lose any marbles I’d gained if this plan were to fail…and most of all you, Alice. I held concerns for your muchness and your mind, both of which had taken such a slithey beating you weren’t aware of it.” Half of her was poised to flee, half felt itself listing towards him, eager for more information. The stroking of her hand remained a constant, subtle force that kept her rooted to the spot. “But by the end of the second day, when the tea was sadly cold and the Bread-and-Butter-Flies had thieved their share of food, I began to think about what I was thinking about.”

His mesmerising voice changed in pitch, to a sound that tamed the resolve inside her. “I’d been pondering the future, your future, without sparing a single thought for myself. And so I sat in my favourite chair, and pondered til I could ponder no more, and at last I came to a wonderful conclusion. It’s the reason why I have gone so long without an outburst of any measurable sort; why I can’t spare a thought for my past because I’m obsessed with the future.”

They bowed their heads together, until the brim of his hat cast a shadow on her cheek.

He met her gaze and whispered with absolute conviction: “I’m not mad anymore.”

Alice could no longer feel his thumb on her skin, she was numb, she was frozen.

She believed him. Believed him.

“I’ve been so consumed by thoughts of helping you that it’s no longer of any importance if you stay here or not,” he continued, sensing her walls starting to crumble and prodding at the weak points. “All that matters to me is that you stop imagining husbands and avoiding being touched. There are far more interesting things for you to imagine, Alice. All I care about is making you better…” he tried to swallow but found his throat was dryer than it had ever been, “…and not…not what will happen to me if you choose to return to England. It’s no longer about my madness and my terrible memories, Alice…it’s about yours.”

A very complicated series of thoughts were running through Alice’s mind:

I believe him - why do I believe him? Because he’s telling the truth - how can you tell? Because I know what he’s talking about - no I don’t - yes I do - no - yes I remember - oh no I don’t want to remember this - no it can’t be true if I don’t say it is - it doesn’t work like that  - I remember I remember -

“A-Alice?” the Hatter murmured, squeezing her hand, and her eyes burst open to find his mere inches away and more green than she’d ever seen them -

“This isn’t how it was supposed to be!” she burst out, “The Haverlock Day is about you being cured -” the pain that resided deep inside her flared to an excruciating level. She fisted her hands in her dress and shut her eyes tight. “It’s not true,” she said fervently, “I’m not mad, I’m Alice, I’m the Champion, I have a husband and -”

“There’s no marriage!” the Hatter cut in desperately, “There’s only your mind and this ring -”

She felt his hands slide up her throat, there was a sharp tug, and before she could scream it was over.

Breathing heavily, she opened her eyes to find the Hatter holding her broken necklace in his open palm, with the ring resting atop it. Picking it up, she noticed something she’d not seen before: an inscription on the inside of the white-gold band.

Safe travels, my daughter, it read.

And Alice realised this was not a wedding ring at all.

It was just the good-luck charm her mother had given her before she set off for China.

The Hatter watched her, transfixed, heart racing…but all the energy left him at the look on her face. “He’s not real, Alice,” he murmured, plucking the ring from her limp fingers and setting it aside. “I’m real.” He gathered up her hands and pressed them into his chest, so that she could feel his heart beating - had she ever truly felt the beating of Henry’s? - And sat so close his nose brushed against hers. “You dreamed him up, like you thought you’d done with me, except I am real and I love you and I do want you to stay for all the evers there ever are -”

She tore her hands from his grip and got to her feet.

“I can’t!” she cried, “I can’t love you!”

“Why not?” he pleaded.

“Because…because if I love you now, then I always have,” she whispered, “If I love you…then it’s true. All those terrible truths…it all happened -”

“But I’m going to fix you, Alice!” he replied, “I’m going to fix you like you did for me -”

She took a step back, though any distance between them made her ache anew. “This isn’t the same thing -”

“Alice!” the Hatter thundered, eyes ablaze, and because he was deathly sick of her running away, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him and kissed her.

Alice wanted to scream. She very much wanted to cry out, or make some form of protest, but in all honesty she could no more protest to this than she could fly to the moon. And she’d tried that at five. It hadn’t ended well. No, the urge to fight was leaving her and for once, she let it go. Because this wasn’t surrender - there was no battle - this was an alignment, a joining of forces, Alice and the Hatter, converging to fight her demons.

Because this was like no kiss they’d ever known.

The slow burn rippled its way from their mouths to their heads and hearts within seconds, so it was all they could do to hold fast to one another to keep from shattering. Desperation upon fear, determination upon love, the emotions entwined and lay down over their souls so it was difficult to define the exact reason for their actions. The way he tilted her chin up with a finger reminded her of the way Henry would kiss her, but the way he tasted was something completely Hatterish. The moan that escaped her throat was a sound she’d made for her husband, but the sheer firmness of her grip on the Hatter was something all their own.

Henry - Hatter - Henry - Hatter - ­

The names ran over and over in her mind until it was hard to know which man she was with. And then the Hatter brought the palm of her left hand up to his mouth and looked into her eyes to say that yes, he’d known it was for him all along, the H. He placed his lips against it, claiming it, and she suddenly thought how foolish she’d been to think it could ever be for anyone else. Slowly he lowered her hand and dipped his forehead to hers.

Alice could do nothing but tremble in his grip. His eyes were not quite orange and not quite green. They bordered so slightly on the edge of each other that it was impossible to tell what colour they were. There were no answers to be found in them this time.

“Are we mad or in love?” she whispered against his cheek. He reached between them to link his fingers with hers, and sought out her gaze once more before replying:

“Why can’t it be the same thing?”

And from this answer she knew that if anyone in the world were to understand her, it would be him, and she would be fine, some day, with his help.

“Yes,” she murmured suddenly.

“I’m sorry?”

“You asked me a question a little while ago and I’m giving you an answer now.”

But he’d asked her a lot of questions, and this didn’t help clarify the matter at hand. Until she pressed her lips to his cheek and sighed against his neck. He drew back a little to completely take in the sight of her.

“Alice, are you saying - after all this - do you love me?”

She nodded with the sort of smile that told him she was terrified of her confession. But she’d been scared for so long now that it hardly mattered, and if he was to fix her like she’d done for him, confessing seemed a good place to start.

“Absolutely, utterly, completely,” she said, and the Hatter wore a grin that could rival the Cheshire cat’s.

End of Part One